


Lime Green and The 12 Wild Geese

by ReillyBites



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Faestuck, Fairies, Fairies are not nice, Geesestuck, Humanstuck, Magic is Real, Non-canon families, Past Character Death, Revisionist Fairy Tale, The 12 Wild Geese, Unless they're fairies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-01-01 06:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReillyBites/pseuds/ReillyBites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The woman stared at the cat, a bitter smile creeping onto her face. 'I wish I could have had a daughter, you know. At this point I’m willing to trade all 12 of my sons for a girl, even, just for the chance to rid myself of the blight that is my youngest son. Let her be green skinned and bald for all I care! Anyone is better than that little shit!'<br/>'Well if that’s truly what you want, then who am I to object?'"</p><p>----<br/>Princess Calliope was born with a curse that made her green skinned and bald. After a stunning revelation, she goes off in search of her 12 brothers who disappeared the day she was born. Along the way she meets the cheerful princess to the neighboring kingdom, makes a deal with a sarcastic and cryptic fairy, and finds that there's more to her curse than a simple wish gone wrong.<br/>--<br/>A story based (a little loosely) off the 12 Wild Geese, an Irish Fairy Tale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by this wonderful snakewine fanart I stumbled onto: http://mspabooru.com/index.php?page=post&s=view&id=105456
> 
> I was originally going to adapt Snow White, but then I realized the necrophiliac tendencies of the prince in the original story and didn't really go through with that idea. So instead, I drew the story from the Irish version of the story, the 12 Wild Geese (http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/yeats/fip/fip71.htm). Well it started off as an adaption, then the story sort of took a life of its own. 
> 
> And so there isn't any issue with me starting the story with no idea of where it's going, I can proudly say that it's been fully outlined. I've got over 45 chapters planned for this, so buckle in kiddies, it's gonna be a long ride.

The snow fell softly onto the hard earth, completely ignorant of the woman who escaped the heat of the impressive castle. She didn’t seem to mind the slow falling snow that blanketed her like it did to the garden she stared at.

A piercing wail came from within the walls, and the woman let a shaky breath into the frigid air. She elected to ignore the child’s cries for the time being and walked further into the garden.

She had just about reached the edge of the garden where it met the dark forest, when another scream escaped the castle walls. The woman groaned and ran her hand through her curled blond hair, her thin eyebrows drawn in frustration.

Her attention was drawn to the sound of movement off to her side. A small white cat, thin as any other stray that prowled the castle grounds, came out of the bushes and stared up at the woman with the strangest purple eyes. The woman sighed.

“Tell me, cat, why must I be cursed with that child?” The woman asked, as if the silent animal had all the answers. “If it can even be called a child. He does nothing but cry, scratch, and bite at anyone who so dares to go near him!”

The woman stared at the cat, and a bitter smile crept onto her face. “I wish I could have had a daughter, you know. At this point I’m willing to trade all 12 of my sons for a girl, even, just for the chance to rid myself of the blight that is my youngest son.”

The woman knew her wishes were foolhardy, that she could never really wish away her other sons, but, for the moment, speaking aloud her deepest thoughts was a bit liberating.

She snorted and looked up the sky. “Let her be green skinned and bald for all I care! Anyone is better than that little shit!”

“Well if that’s truly what you want, then who am I to object?”

The woman’s head snapped back to the cat, but in it’s place stood a girl. She stared back with the same strange purple eyes as the creature. Her black lips were curled into a small smirk. The woman’s eyes grew large and a spark of recognition crossed her face when she watched the girl tuck a strand of short, pale blond hair behind her ear.

“I’ll grant your wish, if only to show you what a wonderful idea it is to speak your darkest thoughts out loud.”

The woman’s face contorted into one of horror and she took a step towards the girl, but in that instant the girl disappeared. The only evidence that the fairy was ever there was indicated by the set of pawprints that marked where she stood.

The Queen turned and ran back into the castle, she had to tell her King of the grave mistake she made.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it's been awhile, and my only excuse is life.  
> In other news, I have found a WONDERFUL beta reader to help make this story extragreat, and I would like to put a little thank you here, hehe.  
> She is the lovely Charlotte from http://thebetaservice.tumblr.com/ I wholly recommend checking them out if you're in need of a beta c:

==>

Your name is Calliope of Prospit, and you are currently sighing to yourself. You sit huddled into the far corner of the expansive bed, the dark green canopy showing only your vague silhouette. You lay your head against the cool stone wall, your brow furrowed.

You have been sitting like this for the last 15 minutes, completely determined to make yourself as invisible as possible.

Today you turn 16, and your mother decided to hire you a brand new handmaid, since the last one grew too sick to work. The girl, apparently, had not been properly prepared when she walked through your doors and promptly screamed when she saw you.

Most of the castle servants have been with you your whole life, and most of them don’t bat an eye at you. Or at least they pretend not to. You aren’t blind, though. You can quite clearly see the difference between yourself and everyone else. Where their skin ranges from pale as snow to dark as night, yours is an altogether different hue. You can also see the wariness in some of their faces, and how some of them make certain to stand a certain distance away from you.

You stare down at your hands and absently rub at the mold colored pigment. Sometimes you pretend that if you rub hard enough, the sickly color would finally come off and there would be a layer of normalcy underneath. It never does, of course, and you are only ever left with a sore hand afterwards.

The handmaid just made your birthday only slightly worse than every other birthday. Your mother can shower you in all the extravagant gifts and parties she wants, it still won’t change the looks you catch on this particular day.

There’s a knock at the door, but you make no move to address it. There’s another knock, then the soft creaking of the heavy wooden door opening. The sound of heels clicking against the marble floors makes its way to the foot of your bed before stopping.

“Calliope?”

You don’t respond. Instead you simply draw yourself inward, determined through sheer force of will to disappear.

“Calliope, sweetie, I know you’re there.” When you continue your silence, a delicate hand pushes the fine green curtain away to reveal a smiling face surrounded by blonde curls. “Where else would you be?”

She sits on the edge of the bed and pats the spot next to her. You forgo any petty protest you may have and silently crawl to your designated seat. You are immediately captured in a warm embrace.

You stay like that for a bit, allowing yourself to be comforted by the hand softly stroking your hairless head.

Eventually, you can’t keep yourself from finally voicing the question that’s always lurked in the back of your mind.

“Mother, why?” You don’t look up at her and keep your eyes trained on your hands as the unspoken words ring through the air.

There is a long stretch of silence before she speaks. “Sweetheart, you really shouldn’t think about-”

“I deserve to know.” You look up at her now, eyes wide and pleading. “I’m not an ignorant child anymore. I can hear the maids whisper.” Your mother’s lips are pressed into a thin line now. You continue to push the issue. “Something happened on this day. Every year, when you throw me an extravagant party, I can see the sadness in people’s eyes, and I can see how much more you drink during them. Every year I can very easily see the sorrow behind Father’s smiles.”

She looks away. “Mother, please!”

It is then that she gets up and excuses herself from the room, your cries going unheard.

You don’t know what you expected. Looking back you find it a bit idiotic that you thought simple begging would work.

You are determined to find out the truth, however. You have a vague theory, but nothing really concrete. You know you used to have brothers. You know they died. You are fairly certain they died when you were born. You could assume that and be done with it, but there’s something different than general sadness that the older maids always look at you with, especially on this day.

You push off the bed and make your way to the door. You don’t bother putting on slippers; you don’t mind the chill of the stone under your bare feet.

You make your way to the heavy wooden doors of your room. There is only a slight creaking to be heard when you slowly push one open. A quick look shows that the halls are empty, just like you prefer them to be.

You make sure to close your door slowly and carefully. Quickly, you make your way down the halls. Your footsteps are quiet, too small and light to make your presence known.

One of the older maids turns a corner and frowns when she sees you. You try to make yourself scarce around the handful of servants who've been here since before you were born, especially on this day. Their looks and frowns carry more than sadness.

You can feel her heavy gaze and train your eyes at your feet. You no longer have to see their faces to know what lies behind their cold expressions.

Contempt. Blame.

You hurry past; the way she looks down on you is suffocating. You mother can pretend all she wants that all is well, but you cannot ignore how people act around you. Maybe you wouldn't be as affected, if it was just people reacting in fear over your appearance. You don't blame them; you are, in fact, a hideous green monster. You don't even know why your mother and father didn't think you a demon and killed on sight. You don't think you're a demon, though. Well, you hope not.

You stop in front of the large, decorated doors. You raise your hand, fingers curled into a loose fist, and you hesitate. You study the expanse of swirls carved into the dark wood. You lightly trace the elegant patterns with your fingers, and you make out the shapes. The door is bordered with tiny carvings of animals. Your hand glides down the 12 animals in the pattern and you pause on the last one. It always struck you as odd how the other animals were shown as happy and playful, but the snake always looked ready to bite your finger off. It made you a little uncomfortable, in all truth, which in turn made you feel silly. It's just a door.

You take your hand back and take a deep breath. Right. No more stalling. It's time to put an end to the mystery that's haunted you for 16 years. You raised your fist again and lightly you rasped your knuckles against the door.

There is a pause, and then a deep voice rings out.

"Come in."

You swallow your nerves and slowly open the door. You poke your head in meekly.

The room is bigger than yours, which is to be expected. It is swathed in bright golds, pinks, and blues. In the center is a large bed that you know for a fact was so soft that you were convinced it was made of clouds when you were little.

On the edge of the bed sits a man dressed in a fine silk shirt and trousers. Everything about him is well kept. His dark neatly trimmed hair has streaks of gray and his face is littered with tiny lines to give away his age. Every move he made was with a certain grace and regality you've only ever seen in one other person, when she isn't intoxicated.

He is the King of Prospit, a man of power and dignity.

"Father?" You call out shyly.

A smile breaks his calm face and he reaches a hand out towards you. "Hello, Calliope."

You step onto the deep blue carpet, your feet sinking ever so slightly into the plush material and you walk over to him. You seat yourself next to him, but you maintain a tiny distance.

He notices, and he lifts an eyebrow at you.

Usually, when you're alone with either of your parents, you sit close to them and lean into their hugs. It's warm, and it’s really the only times you receive affection from anyone in the castle.

You bite your lip. You did not come here for comfort.

"I'm," You start, and then hesitate. You need a second to figure out how to word your sentence. "I'm allowed a wish on my birthday, right?"

"Yes," He says, still a bit puzzled. You rarely ask for anything, all your extravagances are usually random gifts from mother. "Of course."

"Then. I have one." You take another deep breath, and he waits. "I wish for the truth."

You look him in the eyes with a determined gaze. You watch the confusion leave his eyes to be replaced with a slight shock, and then be filled with sadness. They always reminded you of the pictures of lakes you saw in picture books when you were little. Always calm, but you could see something troubling swim underneath.

When he doesn't say anything, you press on.

"I can tell that whatever the truth is, it won't be pleasant, and I can tell that it causes a great sadness, but... No matter what it is, I must know. I have lived my entire life within the castle walls, and I've noticed the way I'm looked at. I know it's not just because of..." Your gaze falters and you look down at your hands that rest on your gold nightgown. You resist the urge to rub the green away. With another deep breath you look up at him again.

"Because of how I am. No, after so long, I can sense the bitterness behind the sad looks. Something happened, and if," You pause again, and you finally give words to your deepest fear.

"If it was my fault, I must know."

"It's no one's fault," He says immediately, and you know straight away it's not the first time he's said it. He looks away.

You keep your gaze steady and don't say anything. You both know that's not enough.

There's a silence that stretches for some time. He seems lost in his thoughts, but you wait patiently. Finally, with a deep sigh, he rubs at his face and looks at you again.

"This is what you wish for?"

"It's important to me."

He sighs again with resignition. "Alright." He turns his head and looks out a large window. The way his eyes unfocused tell you that he's looking at something else entirely.

"Your mother had always wanted a daughter, you know. We had twelve sons before you whom we loved deeply, but she always felt something a little missing.

"When the youngest was born, Caliborn, he proved to be a rather difficult child. His cries and shrieks were never ending, and he would scratch and bite at anyone who came near. A few weeks after his birth, 3 nursemaids had already quit and your mother was at her wits end. She wandered into the gardens and was so stressed that she spoke a dark wish to trade all her sons for a daughter just to be rid of him, even if she was green and bald." He looked at you intensely. "Do not blame her. It was empty wish made in desperation. She did not mean for it to come true, or for anyone to hear her for that matter."

He looked away again. "Unfortunately, one of the Fae masquerading as a cat overheard her wish and granted it. She became pregnant again soon thereafter, and told me everything. I didn't want to believe what would happen, so I assured her that all would be well. When it came time for you to be born, I locked all the boys into a room to try and keep anything from coming to get them. I stayed with them. It was futile to try and stop it, though.

"The moment your mother gave birth to you, your brothers transformed. Their necks elongated, feathers grew over their skin, their arms turned into wings, their mouths into beaks. My sons turned into geese, and they flew away."

Another moment of silence passed, him lost in his memory, and you digesting everything you were told.

He gave you a sad smile you. "And then we only had you. You were such a calm and sweet child, you know. The daughter we had always wanted."

You glance down at your hands again. You say nothing and stand up. You wrap your arms around him. "I'm sorry."

He hugs you back tightly. "It's not your fault," He says again. You give him a light peck on the cheek and straighten up. With a small smile, you announce that you're returning to your room. You give him one last look before leaving him be.

You walk back slowly, newly learned information swimming through your head. Your father may tell you that it isn't your fault, but the fact remains that your existence marks the disappearance of twelve innocent boys. Your brothers. Your brothers whom you've never met. Your brothers whom you've thought were dead all this time.

You enter your room and just stand there. You stare at the green canopy bed, the stacks of books that litter the floor. By the window are your paintings, a few still left unfinished. Your room is decorated with dolls and flowers. Extravagant gifts. Even with all the looks you get from the servants, there is no denying that you have lived a comfortable life with parents who adore and love you.

You look down at your hands again. You've lived a life that you've deprived from twelve people for sixteen years. What are they like, you wonder? Are they regal and imposing, like your father? Are they beautiful and graceful, like your mother? Where have they been all this time? Do they still live as birds? Have they lived in the cold marshlands? Have they been hunted, are they still alive?

You close your hand into a fist and your lips press into a hard line. A new determination washes over you and you go over to your wardrobe. You take out a leather knapsack. You empty the bag of the old toys you stored in it and replace it with a book of maps you received years ago. You take off your heavy golden nightgown and replace it with a plain white dress. You grab your brown elbow length gloves as an afterthought. You cover yourself from head to toe, with long boots and sweeping skirts, so that the only the skin of your head is visible, but you have a large, dark green hooded cloak to take care of that.

You brothers deserve this life more than you ever did. It’s only fair that you, who made them disappear in the first place, find them and bring them back.

You get a blank canvas and a brush. In green paint, you write a final message. Your letters are careful swoops and swirls, perfectly legible. You lay it on your bed, and then close the drapes of the canopy.

You give your room one last look, then you leave as quietly and quickly as possible, your footsteps still barely a whisper.

*

_i mUst make things right._

_i am sorry._

*

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a note for future reference, I definitely DON'T plan on abandoning this story, at all. So even if I don't update for a little bit, rest assured that you will get one eventually.  
> Also as a general rule for myself, I won't post a chapter until I've gotten the first rough draft of the next chapter written, so there will be that hold up as well. Luckily I'm ahead of my own schedule at the moment, but let's not jinx that! I want to try and see if I get far enough ahead on the writing so I can start a regular update schedule.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm alright so this might become a monthly thing!

==>

Your name is Calliope, and you are on a mission.

After you leave your room, you sneak into the kitchens and take a few loaves of bread. You don't know how long you'll be gone, but you figure that much should hold you over for at least a few days.

You make your way to a corridor that runs close to the throne room, and stop in front of a plain door. You look around, cautious of anyone who might see you. After triple checking that absolutely no one is around or within earshot, you enter.

The King's Old Study is a bit small in comparison to the new one your father now uses. You were told that he used to complain about the terrible draft in here until he eventually moved to a room with a fireplace.

All that's left in here is an old desk, a bare bookcase, a dull blue rug, and a few old candlesticks. Everything is covered in a fine layer of dust; when you move throughout the room you can see it flutter through the air in the beam of dark orange light that filters through a small window.

You go over to the book case and you take a moment to trace the spines of the forgotten tomes. You remember when you were smaller, around ten or so, when you first found this room. The books caught your eye immediately, and you would read whatever you could get your hands on. You hoped for story books, but even when you found the books to keep nothing but boring old records, you still read them enthusiastically. You would make a game for yourself to find all the unfamiliar words, of which there were plenty.

Eventually you reach a plain leather bound book, and you pull at it. That day you found this place, you didn't notice the clicking noise. You simply thought it odd that you were met with resistance after the book moved out an inch. You gave it another light tug, but still the book would not move. You frowned and thought the book stuck or something. You grabbed the book again with two hands, and yanked at the book with all the strength and finesse a scrawny ten year old could muster.

The wood of the book case creaks, and, thankfully, you know now that it isn't the sound of the rickety thing about to fall on top of you.

It's still a bit of a struggle on your thin arms, but you successfully manage to pull the book case open all the way. When you were younger, you only managed to move the book case a little, but it was enough for you to notice the dark sliver of emptiness between it and the wall, and the cool air that wafted through it. In a rather ungraceful production, you pried the book case- no, it's a door, definitely a door- open just enough for your tiny frame to slip through.

In those days, it would never occur to you that you would need to close the door behind you.

There's a handle on the backside of the bookcase, and if you were to examine it more closely you think it might be parallel to the false book. No time for that now, though.

You're still for a moment, listening carefully for anyone who might be close enough to hear the groaning of the old door when you close it.

There's a soft click clack echoing from outside the study, and you hold your breath. The footsteps don't pause by the door, though, and you listen as they fade away. You count to 30 in your head, and when you are certain that there is nothing but silence, you let out a breath of relief.

Quickly, you tug on the handle and pull the door shut. You turn around and blink aimlessly. You also shut out the light, it seems. You feel a bit embarrassed that you didn't think to bring a candle or something for light, but you don't have time to go back and grab one.

You reach your arm out to the side and are met with a cool stone wall. You lean against it lightly and you take very slow, cautious steps. You know its close by- oh. Your foot finds the first descending step. You nearly tripped down these when you first came through here, and you are definitely not going to do it again. Memory has warned you about the stairs.

Carefully, you shuffle down the winding staircase, gingerly putting your foot down each time. You keep your weight distributed to your back leg and the arm still bracing the wall. Your every step echoes a bit, despite how light on your feet you are, and it sounds deafening to you. You push the thought aside, though, your logic reassuring you. You've run down these steps giggling before and no one heard a peep.

By the time you reach the bottom, your eyes have adjusted to the dark. Ahead of you is a tall tunnel, just as dark as the stairs you've just conquered. You know for a fact that there won't be any light for a while. Along the walls are torches, but they haven't been used for so long they're practically pointless.

You look back up the long spiral staircase. You don't know how long it took you to descend; keeping track of time was never really your forte. Your best guess is far longer than you would prefer. You look down the tunnel again, and decide that you need to make up for lost time.

You secure your knapsack, take a deep breath, and run.

You bump into a wall or two where the tunnel takes sharp and unexpected turns, but you manage to navigate pretty well. As you expected, your muscles begin to ache eventually and your throat begins to burn, but you don't allow yourself to stop. There's a sharp pain near your hip, but you push until finally you see what appears to be a cave in.

You collapse besides them, panting and gasping for air. Your back is against a cool tunnel wall, and you close your eyes. You focus on taking in deep breaths, even if the air rubs your throat raw and your ribs protest every time you lungs expand. You do what you must to slow your breathing.

You've read that in cases of fatigue, it is of upmost importance to drink plenty of water. By the dryness of your mouth and the scratchiness of your throat, you are very inclined to agree.

When you bring your hand down to your knapsack, you realize with a groan that you forgot to bring anything to drink. Defeated, you loll your head back against the wall.

What are you doing? You haven't even made it outside yet, and you're already beside yourself with exhaustion. You've never been very fit, never needed to be, and you lack the foresight to bring along _water_. You are a tiny, gangly mess of bones, with only enough muscle to function at a basic level. You are just a child and you know it. What made you think you could possibly do this? What made you think that you could-?

That you could-

You heave a great sigh and look down the tunnel you just sped through. Maybe you should head back. Maybe no one's noticed that you've left yet. You could slip back in, shove your cloak and gloves back into the knapsack, and go back to your room as quietly as possible, like nothing happened. You could take the canvas with your little message on it, and paint over it so people think it's what you've been doing this entire time. No one will be the wiser when you paint over your brash decision with a nice picture of...

Geese.

You hang your head into your hands at that image, the first one to pop into your head. Guilt hangs over you like a thick fog. Going back would mean abandoning the brothers whose lives you've already ruined. Your vow to make things right will become empty. If you go back, you will stumble upon your mother at night while she drinks herself to oblivion, and know why. If you go back, the sadness that swims in your father’s eyes will drown you, and you will know why. You will know exactly why.

You shake your head slowly. Your muscles may ache now, but it will never weigh you down like the guilt will.

With a deep breath, you gently shake yourself out of your thoughts. Your chest is no longer aches when you breathe, and the cramp in your hip seems to have faded away. You no longer feel the need to pant for breath. Your mouth is still dry and you've gotten used to the cool burn of your raw throat.

First thing's first, you need water. You would take out your book of maps, but frankly you haven't got a clue where you are and it's not like you can read it in the dark to begin with. These stack of boulders is farthest you've ever gone.

When you first reached this point, it was still day, and you could see beams of sunlight trickle through. When you took a peek through the cracks, you were met by the sight of a mass of dark fur. Quietly, you poked around the cracks to look at the thing from multiple angles, and you figured that it was a large sleeping bear. Seeing the massiveness of one up close and in person was vastly different than seeing one in paintings or statues. Your young self ran away and you haven't returned until now.

Slowly, you gather yourself up, grimacing through the effort. You make your way to the boulders and peer through the cracks. It's been six years since the last time you checked, and if that bear is still there you'll... Well you don't expect it to be there.

The sun has set while you were underground, but the moonlight shines into the cave on the other side of the boulders. Your shoulders sag with relief to find it empty, and you hope with all your might that it isn't just because the bear stepped out for a moment.

You take a step back and look at the blockade. The boulders at the bottom look almost as big as you are, there is definitely no chance of moving them. The stones seem to pyramid though, and get smaller the further it goes. You look up and bite your lip in thought.

With a small huff of determination, you climb up the rocks. The boulders provide decent footing and you carefully scale your way up. This is no different than climbing up to the small passageway above the kitchens when you were eight, you say to yourself. Now that you think about it, you probably just climbed into a vent.

When you reach the top, you push at the stone that sits on top of all the others. It takes a little effort, less then opening the bookcase, but you manage to dislodge it. You watch it roll down the pile of rocks, taking a few with it. You continue to push at the top rocks until, finally, you make yourself an opening big enough to squeeze through.

You worm your way through it, and unceremoniously fumble down the pile. You're fairly certain you have a rock somewhere in your dress, but you have more important things to worry about. You get both feet planted firmly on the ground and take a deep breath.

You make sure your hood is covering your face and then you slowly creep out of the cave. You scan the area and see no one. Your shoulders relax a tiny bit. You take another look around to see if you can spot any sort of landmark.

Oh. Well that most certainly counts for one.

Off in the distance you see the castle, though it seems rather small from your standpoint. You can see tiny lights shine from the towers. You squint. Actually it seems like all the lights are on, which is a feat for such a large building. You attention is drawn to a bigger light coming from the wall that surrounds the castle. You see what seems to be a large fire on one of the platforms, and then you see another platform light up, then another, then another.

You have a moments panic at the thought of the whole place being up in flames, but then you realize that each flame is too unmoving and too controlled to be burning the castle up.

It takes you a moment to remember the little fire pots each guard post has. You remember asking someone what they were for when you spotted them from a tower. They're supposed to be an emergency alert, to get the word to all the soldiers and guards that they're needed in a faster manner.

It looks like they found your note.

You take out your book of maps. By the look of the castle, it looks like they're only just gathering the troops, and you feel like you’re far enough that they aren't going to catch up with you just yet. Your hands are as quick as you can make them without fumbling, regardless.

The moonlight provides just enough light for you to see, and you flip to the page you need. You look up at the castle for a moment to see what side you're looking at. All of the emergency flames are lit now. You look back down at the map and find where you are.

When you learned about maps, they were never hard for you to orientate. You look up and are so very thankful that the stars are clear. You take one last look at the castle, and then you turn and run east. Your sense of direction also rarely fails you.

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a writing blog for organizational purposes, go check it out ouo http://reillybitespencils.tumblr.com/  
> I'll answer questions and whatnot bout the story over there, and yall are more than welcome to ask world building questions and whatnot over there uvu


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHAH I'M LATE AS FUCK  
> SO MUCH SHIT HAS HAPPEN  
> *leaves this here and runs*

==>

Your name is Calliope, and honestly, you need to get the hang of this running thing. The life of a cooped up princess didn't really prepare you for it. 

You don't get very far before you exhaust yourself again. You lean against rough bark to catch your breath. You may have a head start on the troops, but they are far faster than you. Probably on horseback too, now that you think about it. At this point, it's very inevitable that they'll catch up with you.

You've only one option. You need to hide. 

Frantically, you take in your surroundings. From what you can make out in the dark, there are only trees. Copious amounts of trees. They all tower above you, large and old and... Unclimbable. 

There's a sound of movement in the bushes nearby, and, in your ever growing panic, you step away from it. You pull this task off with less grace than intended when your foot does not land on the ground, or anything at all for that matter. 

You stumble and land on your backside. You vaguely register a small mass of pale fur dash past you and into the trees beyond. 

After you collect yourself, you take a moment to inspect how you fell. Where you assumed there to be solid ground was actually an opening nestled between the roots of the tree you were previously using for support. 

It's fairly large, you think, from what you know about animal burrows. Maybe it belonged to a fox? It seems fairly empty though, and another distant rustle of bushes convinces you that you don't have the time to investigate its ownership. 

You look at the den, and then you look down at yourself. It's relatively big, and you are relatively small. It wouldn't hurt to try, or maybe it would, but you don't have time to contemplate it. You look around yourself, then you get up and gather up an armful of fallen leaves and twigs. You set them down in front of the opening. 

You stare at it with a moment’s hesitation more before you exhale, finally get down, and crawl in. 

It is painfully cramped, but you curl into yourself as tightly as possible and manage to fit. Quickly, you reach out and do your best to cover the entrance with the pile you gathered. It mostly just falls on your face, but it covers enough that you might just blend in. For once your mold-coloured skin might be useful.

You fidget for a little while in your hiding place, it's impossible to get comfortable. You're quite positive you're going to end up with a sore everything. You can feel the tickling sensation of something crawling on you, or is that your imagination? You try your hardest not to think about it.

Time passes, and you can't tell a minute from an hour, but eventually you hear a steady, heavy, thumping. 

Marching. 

Your eyes widen and suddenly it's like there's a grip on your spine and nerves, keeping you from even twitching. You hear voices, quickly getting louder, and you see a faint red glow radiate from the opening. You don't dare move your head to look, though. 

"Calliope!"

"Princess!"

Their cries are mixed with assurances that they only wish for your safety, but you continue to be still as stone. The pounding in your chest seems to drown most of them out, anyways. You're surprised they don't hear it.

They don't notice you, and walk on without stopping. Soon the glow fades back into darkness, and, when you can no longer hear them, you heave a silent gasp for breath. You're not entirely sure when you stopped breathing, but the oxygen is a welcomed friend. You're starting to appreciate the smell of dirt. 

You make a decision to stay put a while longer, and it turns out to be a wise one. The glow returns, and a different set of voices call for you. Again, you stay still, and you are only marginally less terrified than the first time. You remember to breathe. 

It seems in your best interest, then, to spend the night here. In this hole in the ground. You must say, this is quite a glamorous abode for a princess. 

You don't think it possible to fall asleep in such an uncomfortable position, but the day's exhaustion finally catches up with you, and you find your eyelids drooping. You listen to quiet noises of the dark forest as you drift off. You dream of feathers.

*

When you wake it's with a slow blink. Light filters in through the opening, making you squint as your eyes adjust. You hear the sound of birds singing softly in the distance.

You move your head and you are aware of your grogginess, the stiffness of your limbs, and the dryness of your mouth. 

You listen for a moment, and notice only the peaceful stirrings of the forest. Without much further thought, you move to free yourself of your tiny shelter.

When you stand, you find that you were completely right in your assumptions last night. Your muscles ache in a way you've never felt before, every inch of you is sore. You feel multiple parts of your body crack and pop when you try and stretch the pain away. 

However, despite your physical discomfort, you feel something bubbling up inside of you. Your lips spread as it spills out into laughter. It's a mixture of relief, disbelief, and joy. You actually _made_ it. Somehow, you escaped your castle, made it past guards, and are outside for the first time in your life

This is. Well. This is unbelievably wonderful for you! You don't think you've been this excited in your life! 

You take a moment and take in your surroundings.

You are in awe. 

The trees, that loomed over you in the dark, now stand proudly above you. Through the leaves you catch glimpses of pure blue. The openings let the sunlight dapple the surfaces below, like a million drops of gold. Around you are endless amount of bushes and leaves, showing off the different shades of green nature has to offer. 

You look down at your still gloved hands. You wonder, as you have done on various occasions when you looked out a window, if you would feel like less of a monster if you were to think of yourself as an extension of nature. You decide to admire the trees instead.

In your books, you read about the world you could never see. It was made quite clear to you from a very young age that you could never venture out the castle. It was deemed too dangerous to be around anyone who wasn't sworn to secrecy by decree of the King. You like to think it's for your sake, so people don't lash out at what they don't know, but sometimes you can't help but wonder otherwise. 

You aren't bitter about the isolation, in the end, and it wasn't like you were confined to a tower like the damsels in your story books. The castle is extremely large, and you've spent your life exploring every nook and crany. You've uncovered ancient rooms, hidden doorways, and secret passages by the dozens. You may have lived in a gilded cage, but it was large and you had plenty of space to grow. 

You still caught yourself staring out the windows on a regular basis, though. You could see the rich green tree tops stretch until the end of the earth, or at least that's what it looked like to you. You know there's even more out there, you have been taught by the best tutors, after all! 

You used to watch, when days passed, as the colors of the trees changed to beautiful ambers and reds. Once, you would pretend your skin was made of leaves, and that you could simply wait to turn to a regular color. 

After you grew out of that childish falsehood, you would still catch yourself staring wistfully at the browning leaves. You'd then close your eyes, and wonder about what lies beyond the dense forest that continued as far as the eye could see. 

You've seen pictures and have been told stories of places that paint the world in the most beautiful light. You've spent many days lost in your mind, and you pictured yourself dancing amongst wide open plains, running over rolling hills, breathing in the salt soaked air of the sea, until you could no longer contain the fantasies in your head. You took to painting the worlds you saw in your imaginations, and you manifested your very dreams onto a canvas. 

You feel the urge to paint the sight before you, to make an image that is no longer bound by the limits of your imagination. Instead, you place your hand on the tree that provided your shelter and lose yourself in the feeling of the texture. You close your eyes and just listen to the sounds you never imagined you'd get the chance to fully hear. 

Slowly, you realize that there is a slight humming sound you can't quite identify. You open your eyes and decide to indulge in your curiousity. You make sure your hood is up and your clothes are secure, if extremely dirty, and make your way towards the sound. 

The sound gets louder and eventually you come across a moderately sized river. A river filled with sweet, glorious water. You scramble towards the bank and kneel down, obviously with the grace of a wellbred princess. Who is currently not being watched. 

You're extremely thirsty, alright? 

It's been a rough 24 hours since you last had something to drink, and dry throats seem to do away with dignity. You don't even care that you're soaking your gloves. You spent the night in a hole for pete's sake!

Well, at least no one can see you.

"You know, I'm pretty sure river water doesn't really qualify as drinking water, per se."

You freeze, and your eyes look up to see blonde curls, a wide smile, and intelligent, rose colored eyes.

*


End file.
